possibly pointless blabbering

I am a Weeble

annabowling 2 Comments

First things first: I do not have high hopes for this blog entry. My cold has officially entered week two. I am currently wrestling with in-store pickup for a purchased item that told me I would have it by the 23rd. It is now the 28th. I very strongly want to show up on the item’s one-weeki-versary with a cupcake and balloons, perhaps party hats, and insist on taking a selfie with the worker who “guaranteed” it would be available on Saturday. Item is in store, but being “processed.” Um, long process, dudes. There will be feedback on this one, oh yes there will.

Today, I have made myself get dressed, put on makeup and head to my favorite coffee house, because the need to do normal things is overwhelming. Note that I did not list “do my hair” in the preparations to leave the house, because I have honestly forgotten what  one does with face framing layers, and it’s only one day post wash. Yep. Been in the house too long. I forgot to ask the barista for my customary splash of skim milk, which means my tea now has a splash of the community half and half. Cookie is less because I am getting down to Serious Novel Writing, and more because I have not had lunch and did not want to cook. One look at refrigerator full of delicious Thansgiving leftovers, and nothing but nope. I am dealing with my laptop’s touchpad, because I was too tired to pack the mouse, and wrangling with the mouse cord is not worth the aggravation.

Yesterday, I inhaled Every Exquisite Thing, by Matthew Quick (Skye will provide the link to my rambling review on Friday) and am now emotionally eviscerated. Also mourning a fictional character, and would compare the events of that character needing to be mourned with events of a similar nature in another book whose title and author escape me, but I think I can take a reasonably good stab at the author. At any rate, there’s a similarity in the circumstances, and I’d like to see if I could work that into a historical romance at some point in the future. EET was YA fiction, and the other book, hmmm, I’m going to say horror. Maybe. With YA elements.

This all makes me want to spend more time on historical romance, and I have high hopes for my next few historical romance reads, as well as a clearer focus on returning to the next scene in Her Last First Kiss, so that’s all good.  I also owe half a scene from the Beach Ball, which I hope to get done in the next couple of days, because a) my collaborator, Melva, deserves a reward for her legendary patience, and b) I want this story to progress, because there is more yet to come.

Earlier this week, I’d braved the elements (and Black Friday crowds) because certain things had to be done, even if what I wanted to do was watch Netflix from my blanket fort. As part of that outing, I had lunch at a favorite establishment with Housemate, and talk turned to work. Specifically mine. I asked her how she’d describe my author brand to someone who had never read me before. Since this is a fairly large people group, this question is extremely relevant to my interests. Her answer involved the phrase, “getting back on the horse” and moving forward (even with setbacks) in the face of adversity, in fiction as well as nonfiction.

“So, basically,” I said to her, when she was done, “I’m a Weeble?”

The gist of her response can be whittled down to, “Pretty  much.”

Okay. I can live with that. Seriously, what’s the alternative? Not getting back up after life knocks one down? Not going on, even if it means dancing on phantom limbs or heading off in a slightly or completely different direction? Yeah, no. Not going to do that. That’s not in me. I tried. It didn’t work. It’s not in my characters, either; not in my heroes and heroines, no matter when or where they lived. Apple trees can only grow apples. I want to grow as many apples as I possibly can, and make them into a whole smorgasbord of dishes.

So that’s where I am on this fine Monday morning, now firmly in the month between Thanksgiving and Christmas. Decorations at Stately Bowling Manor would have been going up directly after Thanksgiving dinner, but sick me, so tomorrow is the next projected date. As much as it’s irritating to have to wait for things like that, they payoff is worth it. That moment when Real Life Romance Hero and I tell Housemate to turn off all the lights, and we get that first glimpse of the living room lit by nothing but Christmas lights, that’s where the magic is. Every year, we call it the best tree ever, and, every year, it is.

That’s what I’m shooting for when I type (or co-type) the end on HLFK and the Beach Ball. Best books ever. Well, mine (and semi-mine) at least. That’s all any of us writer types can aim for, with each new endeavor. Make this the best one. Fall down? Yep, going to happen. If it hasn’t, then it only hasn’t happened yet. Fall down? Get up. Get back on the horse. Keep going. I guess it’s my inherent Weeble-ness that keeps things going at times, and I am okay with that.

 

 

 

 

Typing With Wet Claws: Black Friday Edition

annabowling 1 Comment

Hello, all. Skye here, for our regularly scheduled Feline Friday. The picture for this blog entry is a Greatest Hits picture, because I was not having any part of any picture taking today, even if it is my blog day. Nope, no way, not even for Anty. She got a couple of pictures of my butt, because I kept walking away from the camera. That is how I tell her I would prefer not to participate in her photoshoots at any given time. This may or may not have anything to do with the fact that I had regular cat food yesterday, because somebody did not write down that Mama and Uncle should get me special turkey flavored cat food when they bought Thanksgiving stuff. It also may or may not have anything to do with the fact that Anty took a movie of me washing myself and put it on Instagram. Granted, it did get a lot of likes, and I am super, super fuzzy, so my modesty is intact, but still, are there no limits?

Anyway, even when sick, Anty wrote her post for Buried Under Romance. She did, however, forget to post about it (that is an occupational hazard with bad colds like the one Anty is getting over) so this may be the first people have heard of it. It looks like this:

bur25nov16

and you can read it here:

http://www.buriedunderromance.com/2016/11/saturday-discussion-favorite-families-in-romance.html

If you had seen Anty this week, you would not blame her for forgetting to post about her post.  It was a pretty rough week. She is doing better now, and she did finally get enough brain together to watch things on Netflix. One of the things she watched, besides Thanksgiving themed TV show episodes,  was a movie called Results, which actually did have a kitty in it. It also had a dog in it, and, of course, some humans, but the kitty part is the part that mattered. Anty liked the characters and storyline, and thinks the actors all did very good jobs throughout the whole movie. My favorite part was when the kitty walked out of the loud human party at the end. I love movies with happy endings. I like to think he went under a big bed. where it was quiet, and had lots of treats.

Even though I had regular flavor cat food (it is really good, so I am not complaining) I did get lots of treats, too. That makes it a good Thanksgiving. In case you were wondering, here is what the humans had for dinner. Uncle says not all the food made it into the picture (also, this is only one plate, and yes, it is on top of a legal pad, because the humans ate in the living room. Anty needed to be under her blankey.)

fudthankgsiving2016

Uncle had a very good time making everything. The humans had to put other things on their plates when they finished the first ones, because Uncle made a lot. Then there was pie. I do not eat pie, because I am a kitty, but the humans seemed to like it. Anty threw me a napkin that smelled like the birdie the humans were eating, and I was very interested in that. I considered pouncing on it, but then I got distracted. Maybe another time.

I sometimes forget how to play, and my humans have to teach me again, but I do not think they mind. I catch on sooner or later, and then it is fun time. Anty has said she thinks I might like a toy that moves on its own, because I am interested in the toys she throws me as long as they are moving, but when they stop moving, I lose interest. Anty thinks that is because playing is really hunting practice, and I am not interested in hunting things that are already dead (because not moving =  already dead.) She is pretty smart, so she may be on to something here. I guess I will find out on Christmas, which is not that far away. Anty, Uncle and Mama talked mostly about what to serve for Christmas dinner, while eating Thanksgiving dinner.

Anty is doing Black Friday a little differently this year. Since Mama has to work the morning shift, and Anty is getting over the cold (but still determined to get out and do stuff; a week of Anty being inside all the time is driving all of us nuts) they are going to go and see what deals they can get in the afternoon. I have seen the list, and “cat food” is one of the first items on it, so I am not bothered about anything else they might get while they are out buying that.

Until then, Anty is bundling under her blankey and reacquainting herself with this whole writing thing. A non-writing Anty is not a good thing for anybody. so I will not let that happen. I must return to m y mews duties, so that is about it for now. Until next time, I remain very truly yours,

skyebye

Skye O’Malley Hart-Bowling
(the kitty, not the book)

Typing With Wet Claws: Mucho Laundry Edition

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Hello, all. Skye here, for another Feline Friday. Before I get into anything else, and there is always an anything else, I first have to talk about Anty’s writing this week. This week, Anty sent off the first chapter of Her Last First Kiss that is ready for critique, to Miss N. This is her second draft, with some new things in it, and she is a little nervous and a little excited to have other eyes on this new version. She will see what Miss N thinks, and know more about that on Tuesday. That is still a few days away.

Miss Ezrah at Buried Under Romance fought the hackers and won (I think she is a warrior princess) so Anty was able to post a new installment of Saturday Discussion there. It is here:

http://www.buriedunderromance.com/2016/11/saturday-discussion-tainted-love.html#comment-9167

and it looks like this:

burtainted

Anty is also working to get current with her chapter for Anty Melva in the Beach Ball, which she had hoped to get done sooner than now, but it has been a week. She is also working on posts for Heroes and Heartbreakers. Some of those mean she needs to do some reading first, so she is looking at her available time to see when she can do that. Her goal is to get her desk clear and then pitch new posts, as well as work on books.

Sometimes, being a domestic warrior queen does not play well with that goal. Take today, for instance. Anty had wanted to get my picture for today’s blog before she had her big laundry morning. She had one load to do for Mama and then a big load to do for herself and uncle. I am a kitty, and do not need laundry because I do not wear clothes. I have fur. I also did not want my picture taken, and kept walking away any time Anty had her phone out. I did not feel like staying still. Anty did not know why, but she was focused on the laundry anyway. She likes to get laundry done in the morning, when the Laundromat is most quiet, so she can spend some time reading or writing while her clothes get clean.

Today was not one of those days. It was not quiet. The first time Anty went to the Laundromat, she shut off her phone, because there was a person there who wanted to talk to her, and she wanted to listen. Also, the custodian was there, making sure the building was clean. Anty figured she could read things and listen to music on her second laundry trip (it is a good thing we live kitty-corner -I am disappointed that it does not have anything to do with actual kitties, except maybe that I am one- from the Laundromat.) Anty had been wearing old clothes to do laundry in, and, while she was getting the big load together, she heard a tear. She had figured she could get one more wear out of that pair of jeans, but she was wrong. Time to change, so she did.

Then she came home. I was curled in a very nice ball, in front of the heater, and Anty knelt to take my picture. Then she stopped. Something was wrong. That thing would be that she realized she was kneeling in a puddle of my, um, stuff. For those of you who are new readers (hello!) I have special paws, so I do not climb. That means that I do not use a litterbox, even though many other kitties do. I have a special spot on the floor where I do my stuff, and, usually, I will let a human know when I need to go. This time, though, Uncle was at work and Anty was at the Laundromat. I did what I had to do.

As soon as Anty figured out what was going on, she got up, put the pee pads down on my puddle, and then Febreezed herself. That did not do the trick. She let out a long breath, stared down at her clothes and vowed she was not going to make three Laundromat trips in one day. Even if that would allow her to get current with the linens. Anty considers laundry to be therapeutic, but even she has her limits. It was laundry or writing, and, this time, writing won. That is a good thing, because Anty gets cranky when she is away from her writing for too long. Some times, writing has to come first, even when cat, um, stuff is involved. That is a sign of true dedication, if you ask me. Plus, humans seem to like putting on clothes warm from the dryer, so, from a certain perspective, I did her a favor.

That is about it for this week, because Anty is burning daylight. Until next time, I remain very truly yours,

skyebye

 

Skye O’Malley Hart-Bowling
(the kitty, not the book)

 

Normal Things

annabowling Leave a comment

I wasn’t going to blog today, but I need to, so I am. This is not a post about the election. This is a post about normal things. For me, today, that means writing. This morning, I got up, my head muddled with news and social media feeds and friends fearful and angry and hurting, on all sides of this whole deal, my heart heavy, and the first thing I could do was go to my office, open my morning pages book, and put pen to paper. Because that’s what I do. That’s as much a part of the entire morning routine as feeding the cat and making tea.

Normal things give us a sense of purpose when it feels like invisible hands shook our lives like an Etch-a-Sketch. I love my office; it’s not yet perfect but it is a place I can go inside, close the door and feel that sense of peace, especially needed on days when everything feels turned around. This morning, I made tea, settled into my office chair, opened the morning pages book, took a moment to appreciate the pretty pages (pretty pages are like catnip to me) and put pen to paper, because that’s what I do. That’s what’s normal. That’s a first step forward.

This post was going to be about fountain pens, in honor of the National Fountain Pen Day that I missed, but I’m going to save that for another time. I didn’t want to write about pens today. Sure, I could, but that wasn’t what I wanted. What I wanted was historical romance. Not as an escape. I don’t use the word, “escape,” to refer to reading, of any genre, because it isn’t. Whatever is going on in my life or the world at large is still there when I close the file or notebook, or put book or Kindle aside, but it is a respite. A place where I can go for a little while, do something else, and come back stronger, fresher, more equipped to take on what else needs doing.

The “historical” part of historical romance reminds me that we are resilient. The “romance” part reminds me that we are not alone. Both things good to keep in mind during turbulent times. There’s something special about stepping into another time and place, somewhat like going into my office and closing the door. There’s that moment of taking a breath, letting the new (old?) surrounding settle around me and slipping into the world of the story, the cadence of the author’s voice. Still holds true when that voice is my own, but, depending on where I am in the story, guessing where things might go could me a little different when I’m the one in charge of that. (Or my imaginary friends are; they do tend to have minds of their own.)

It’s rainy today, my very favorite kind of weather, apart from snow, and so my instinct is to go out in it.  I have snazzy leopard rain boots, and the coffee house the next block over is always good for my story brain. Memories of a historical I tried to force out of my brain -well, two, really- in that very coffee house, inch by kicking and screaming inch, jumped into my head when I mentioned that. Maybe because this is the month of NaNo? Not guilt over them, or any feeling at all, really, only more of a “well, those were there, at previous points in time.” A passing thought, probably nothing else attached to it, but it was in my head, so onto the page it goes.

There is tea at that coffee house, and I may allow myself  a baked good if they have anything especially appetizing. The Earl Grey cookies are amazing, and I will go for anything with coconut in it, as long as it doesn’t contain any nut-nuts as well. Cup of tea, possible cookie, work on scene for Beach Ball, because that’s on the list, and spare a few minutes to take in the bare brick walls, adorned with the works of local artists. Take in some atmosphere. Fill the well. Maybe bake cookies myself when I get back home, because that’s relaxing for me, and we get cookies. Normal stuff; it has power.

Post-Birthday Post

annabowling 2 Comments
French Onion burger
Real Life Romance Hero

 

Sometimes, it’s the smallest changes that make the biggest difference.  Monday’s post is on Tuesday this week, because this particular Monday can best be summed up thusly:

 

I love my birthday. Like really, really love my birthday. Birthdays in general, but October 24th is all about me. Thankfully, I have progressed past the announcing of said date to random strangers (okay, I think I grew out of that when I was about five, maybe six) I do not sleep in a tiara, as the risk of poking Real Life Romance Hero in the eye is too strong, but the sentiment is basically the same. The time leading up to the actual day had some ups and downs, because the number attached to this birthday has a zero in it. We will not dwell on that, because the time machine is broken, and I can only move forward from where I am at present, the anniversary of being a one-day-old.

While I am not a medical or psychological professional, I did study early childhood education (the fact that I now make up stories and tell people who kissed on TV may let you know how good of a match that turned out to be) and I think it is safe to say that a large part of a one-day-old’s thought process is devoted to (pardon my language, gentle readers) “WTF?” There they were, minding their own business the way they’d always done, then the walls closed in and oh so much pressure, and then light and sound and touching and hey it’s cold out here and what are you doing with my cord, doctor person? Okay, there’s milk, and blankets are nice, and these other beings generally seem pleased that the new person exists, but there is a bit of a learning curve going on here. Little patience with the new kid, okay?

Today is a little like that. Since Real Life Romance Hero had to work on the 24th, we celebrated together on the 22nd, which was cold, rainy and grey. In short, my favorite weather besides snow, so bonus points for that. We had lunch together, hung out for the afternoon, and I could not have asked for a better day. Cold day, hot date, hot lunch. Perfect combination, left me feeling very loved.

Real Life Romance Hero
French Onion burger

 

This left the actual day free for celebrating with Housemate, who knew me well enough to suggest trips to two separate libraries. This is why we are friends. That, and neither of us can afford the blackmail. She also gave me the lovely lap desk in today’s picture, or, for a better shot of it without the laptop and friends in the way, this:

 

lapdesk241016

I’d had my eye on this one for a while, though the old lap desk still technically worked. It was a flat surface. It fit in my lap. Okay, the not-very-convincing woodgrain contact paper type of covering had begun to split and peel, the cushion had deflated, and the loop that was intended to let me carry the desk from place to place was now more of a tab. In short, long enough. Time for something new. Time for getting down to business. This one has two wrist rests. The wooden bar between them keeps pens from rolling off, and there are not one, but two places I can park my phone while making with the tappity tap.

How big a difference did this make? Pretty darned, actually. Last night, while I chatted with H, I worked on a scene.  Things were going all right, though this was not coming as smoothly as I had hoped, but okay,  moving forward. Typing with wrist support is a whole other experience, everything in the correct place, no need to be part Cirque de Soleil performer while keeping everything in reach. Until, that is, my jump drive blinked at me. I knew what that blinking jump drive meant. Bad stuff.

Sure enough, a couple of seconds later, the computer let me know the jump drive was corrupted. Click this handy button to fix things. That always worked before, so I did. Computer said drive was okay now. Great. Go back to document. My scene is gone. Closing in on two thousand words, gone. Not there. Big ol’ zero. I calmly inform H of this. H joins me in expression of shock and dismay. Was I sure? I was sure. Blank page, right there. Maybe being actually comfortable had something to do with it, or newfound maturity, or both, but I checked my backup, to see if I had saved an earlier version.  I had.

Okay.  Call up earlier version. Discover earlier version is half the size of scene I lost. Half. Inform H of this. H agrees it stinks that I lost half, but, maybe, this is for the best, and I can write it even better this time. I agreed that was probably true, but I was done for the night. I took out a new jump drive, obtained for the distinct purpose of taking over for the other one, and transferred the file in question. Then it was bedtime, because entire scenes vanishing can do a thing to a gal, especially on the first day of a year ending in zero.

So. Far over the  magic seven hundred, comfy in my chair, with my lap desk, wrists fully supported, handwritten “everything I can remember about this scene” pages in place, and forward I go, a one-day-old once more. Only, this time, I have cupcakes.

cupcakecravingsbyrachel

apple spice, brown sugar frosting

Bound By The Work We Started

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My new office chair is in place. Smoke detectors are done chirping and back to protecting our safety. Blog entry is next on my list of Things To Do, before I dive, with love and uncertainty, back into the actual writing and related tasks (of which blogging is assuredly one) and title comes from the Sting song that was playing when I opened WordPress today. Not a pop song, but a selection from probably the only-ever hit Broadway show about shipbuilding, The Last Ship. Probably only Sting could ever write a hit Broadway show about downtrodden shipbuilders reclaiming their moxie, but he’s Sting, so he can.

Yesterday, I hit a huge pit of gaming withdrawal. I don’t remember the last time I was able to boot Sims 3, and the missing it hit me, hard. Okay, a friend squealing over how great Fallout 4 looked on her new PlayStation may have had something to do with that. I tried booting Sims 3 but ye olde lapptoppe wouldn’t hold an internet connection long enough to boot, so that was out of the question. Still, I had the hunger. My work for the day was done. I needed to calm down from a couple of stress triggers, and I knew gaming would do the trick…which would be super helpful if I could actually boot my game.

Which was when the other thing hit me. I still had Sims Medieval (TSM) installed, and (thank you, organization) the CD was right at hand. Popped that puppy in, and, after a couple of false starts, boom, game. I knocked off a quest for my blacksmith in pretty short order, took some screenshots, and impressed myself with how much fun it was to get back to it, after al this time. Sims and a  historical environment should be a natural for me, and it is. Sure, there are some drawbacks, because it isn’t like real Sims. I can’t build, for one thing, and I have to do quests, rather than making my Sims live their lives (preferably in a custom neighborhood that looks like Levittown and Centralia somehow collided) but it felt good to play with some form of pixel people, and I hadn’t played since Origin installed the update, so there should be some new-to-me stuff.

There’s also the fact that it’s been so long that part of the game does feel like I’m playing it for the first time again, but I have enough experience from those long-ago quests that I’m not starting at zero, even if it feels like it. Rupert, my blacksmith, pictured above (he’s the dude; chick is Queen Sascha, who sent him on his quest) is now at level nine of his career, so he’s got some cred and swagger. Also a nifty assistant who does a bunch of his work for him, which is a big perk.

What does this all have to do with writing, one might ask? It’s okay. Go ahead. I did. Half the time I write these blogs, I don’t know where I’m going when I start, but if I do keep going, I usually figure it out, because I’m me, so I can. Aha. Kind of like Sting in that respect. All right, that may be the only thing Sting and I have in common. I am pretty sure I am never going to write a hit Broadway musical about shipbuilding (or anything else, most likely. I also got thrown out of robed choir in high school, for having a bad voice -teacher’s words- in front of the entire class, but hey, I got to read romance novels while everybody else sang, so who really won that breakup?) Then again, Sting is probably never going to write a historical romance novel. (If he did, though, I’d probably read it.) Which is all okay, because there’s room for both in this crazy world we live in, and lots of people like both. It’s not an either/or kind of thing going on here. I appreciate that.

The more we exercise any muscle, the stronger it gets. When I booted TSM last night, it wasn’t real Sims. I hadn’t played in forever. There were going to be things I forgot, skills that got rusty, and I didn’t remember who all my characters were. I wanted to game, though, needed to game, and this was the game I could play, and so it was going to happen. Little splashing around in the shallows, but then I got into it and, by the time I shut down because I had to adult, quest completed, fun had, next quest already picked out. It felt a lot like writing, which is why I like the Sims franchise. It uses a lot of the same muscles; character creation, the development of relationship, goals, motivations and conflicts, and, in the end, telling a story. Telling a story is what I love most. Plop it in an old-timey setting, and I am home, baby.

Reaching the points I’m at for the current mss is scary, because I’ve leveled up. I beat the monster of the first levels, laid my foundations, and now I need to build and fortify. Decorate, because making things look right is part of the fun. Combat the bigger, stronger monsters that come with each new level, because my big goal is defeating the boss at the end. Or, in the case of writing a book, The End. All those voices that say “you can’t do it,” or, worse, “you can’t do it anymore,” those need to be drowned out by the clicking of keys, the scratch of pen against paper, a playlist with a respectable amount of Sting on it, and one foot in front of the other until the final draft is done.

Hey Hey It’s A Monday

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New office chair (thank you, Ursula) is in place, it is super comfortable, and my back has already sent out hand-written thank you notes to my brain, which my brain greatly appreciates. I am having a weird hair day. Not a bad one, merely a weird one, which is why there are messy buns and beak clips. I am wearing both an infinity scarf and sandals, a sure sign that it is September in New York. I have learned, only about five minutes ago, and a day after I used a wrench to open a particularly sticky bottle of seltzer, that what I thought was a mini-mousepad is actually a bottle opener grippy thing.

I  have had said grippy thing since the NECRWA conference this past spring, and it took me that long to figure it out. If I hadn’t noticed that the surface of the supposed min-mousepad, which should have been smooth (which is kind of the whole point) was textured and kind of rubbery-pebbly, but in a grid-ish sort of fashion rather than actual pebbles, I probably still wouldn’t know, and would keep toting the darned thing around, rather than tossing it in the kitchen drawer where I now know it belongs. This also means that mini-mousepad goes on my list of desired (preferably pink) computer accessories.

This was not my only d’oh-worthy discovery of the afternoon. The notebook in which I made notes that I had planned to transcribe today? Left it at home. Okay. Slightly different focus to today’s session, then. When packing my tote, my brain was too busy with the “is it time to put away the summer tote for the season” debate to notice that I had not actually brought the notebook that was the whole point of going out, but I can do what’s on the index cards for now and fill in the rest when notebook and I are in the same place. I will admit to a small voice in the back of my head, whispering that it’s a sign I should instead use the time to watch Friday Night Lights, but I am not listening to that voice during writing time. Writing time is writing time, and much as I love spending time with Coach Taylor and the gang (mostly Tim; came for Jason Street, aka Future Mr. Amber Holt, stayed for Tim Riggins, still don’t care about football, but love the passion for the game) they are not going to get this book written. That’s my job. I show up, Hero and Heroine show up, too, and we all hit the field…er, page, which is when the magic happens.

I like knowing where I’m going, how I’m going to get there, and who’s going with me. I’ve tried pantsing, but as a person who has actually sustained physical injury from putting on pants, that is not a tactic that works well for me. There is a component of flying into the mist when following the original idea -the best characters and/or stories are the ones that find me- but when I know where the journey of a particular book is going, I want to know how we’re going to get there, what the stops are along the way, and leave enough room for some fun surprises.

Learning to ask for what I need is a new thing for me, and that includes asking myself…and listening. That’s scary. What do I need right now? Do I need to touch paper? Step away from the keyboard, touch some paper. Maybe my version of black on white that I need right now is actually purple on pattern. Am I not physically comfortable right now? If I am, how so? Am I hungry, angry, lonely or tired? Do I not have what I need to know what happens in this scene? If so, I can go get it. Maybe that means popping online, to check a bit of information. Maybe it means I need to talk about it to a write friend, online or face to face. Maybe the missing bit is at the bottom of a cup of tea or at the end of a movie or TV episode that has the right feel, or that actor who does that thing in that scene. Maybe it’s in the middle of the bridge of that song I can’t get out of my head, or somewhere in the book my brain keeps going back to when I don’t yank its leash.

I’m at the end of my blog time for today, so I’m going to take some inspiration from Skye’s weekly signoff and say that’s about it for this entry. Sometimes, what I need is a good pointless babble, which, in reflection, makes it not that pointless after all. There is an inherent order into unexpected side trips, as long as they get me back on the main road, and I am going to call that good enough.

 

Typing With Wet Claws: Finally Fall Edition

annabowling 4 Comments

Hello, all. Skye here, for another Feline Friday. I am feeling much better this week, and so is Anty. For me, it is because the gross, disgusting stuff Anty smeared on my nose (so that I would lick it off) worked. Stuff came out of both ends of me, and that was not fun, but I did not have to go to the pokey place after all, because I got rid of the big hairball that was in my tummy. The humans gave me my special gushy food after my tummy settled, because I am a good girl. That part, I liked.

The part Anty likes is that it is now officially fall. That means her super powers have come back. It also means that she has book brain more often, but that is an occupational hazard. She does not mind that so much, because it is easier to write. I can tell that is true, because, this week, we have two posts I need to tell you about before we can do anything else. First, there is Anty’s weekly discussion post at Buried Under Romance. She forgot to share the link again, but that does not stop readers from finding it, and she has me to share it with all of you. This week, she talks about the different formats in which humans can read their stories. Which one do you like best? Her post is here:

http://buriedunderromance.com/2016/09/saturday-discussion-whats-your-favorite-format.html and it looks like this:

bur170916

 

Then, because fall means new TV shows it also means that Anty will be recapping some of them that have special kissy moments, for Heroes and Heartbreakers. Anty had a little bit of book brain when she recapped the premiere of This Is Us, but I think she did okay, all things considered. No cats in this show, as far as I can tell, but Anty lilked it anyway. That post is here:

http://www.heroesandheartbreakers.com/blogs/2016/09/happy-birthday-this-is-us-season-1-episode-1-heart-to-heart and it looks like this:

 

thisisuss1e1hth

 

Now that it is officially fall, Anty is very happy to have a whole new season full of shows to recap, and to be working on two books that she loves, the beach ball, with Anty Melva, and Her Last Fist Kiss, on her own, at the same time. She and Anty Melva are proposing a workshop for the NECRWA conference, on writing through the tough parts of life, so she is looking forward to finding out about that. If they do not present at the conference, then that is still okay, and they can look at presenting to local RWA chapters.

Anty is also very happy that there will be a new addition to the office this weekend. Thanks to a very kind CRRWA chapter sister, Anty can retire the camp chair back to the balcony and put a new-to-her office chair in there, instead. Back support is apparently important to humans. Mama is also making Anty step up her game on the desktop front, and by helping, I mean checking the numbers and making sure the computer Anty buys is strong enough to do everything Anty wants it to do. Writing is the main focus, of course, but we will all be a lot happier when Anty can play Sims again. Trust me, a Sim-less Anty is not something anybody wants to see.

Fall also means that Anty can bake more often. Usually, this means cookies, which I do not eat, because I am a kitty, but it also can mean macaroni and cheese, which I also do not eat (same reason.) Her macaroni and cheese looks like this:

macaroniandcheese0916

Hungry yet?

Anty found the original recipe in a magazine for humans who like making food, but she made some changes, and Uncle says she made enough changes that it counts as her own recipe now. She keeps that recipe in her head. That would make one of her antys proud, because that particular anty  was an amazing cook, but never wrote down a single recipe, or used any measurements; she just knew. Uncle says that might be because that particular  anty used to be a professional chef, and she spent enough time with her tools and ingredients, that she didn’t have to measure or write anything down, because she knew what she was doing, that well. I think that is pretty impressive, and I also think that it carries over into writing.

I do not mean that writers require macaroni and cheese before they can write (but then again, I do not think it could hurt, either.) I mean that, when one does something long enough, and does it a whole lot of times, it isn’t always necessary to stop and check to make sure every single step is exactly the way it ought to be. Like Anty’s anty knew how heavy a teaspoon of salt felt in her hand, for example, and Anty knows that she needs one sleeve of graham crackers to pulverize for her macaroni and cheese topping, she also knows what she needs to make a romance novel.

It may have taken  a while to get to that point, but it is a big relief for Anty to know she doesn’t have to stop and check that there are this many words and how characters need to be this or that. When she makes macaroni and cheese, she gets out the things she will need, puts them in the right place, turns on the right kind of music, and then…she knows. Getting to this phase of writing again feels like that. Here are the characters, and what happens to them, and the outline is how it happens, and here’s the notebook and here’s the pen and here’s the keyboard, and she knows. It is kind of scary to be at that point, but, if Anty concentrates on what she has to do right now, and doesn’t try to fix everything all at once, every step leads to the final product.

Right now, I would like her steps to lead to my food bowl, so that is about it for this week. Until next time, I remain very truly yours,

i1035 FW1.1

Until next week…

Skye O’Malley Hart-Bowling
(the kitty, not the book)

 

Typing With Wet Claws: Hairballs and Index Cards Edition

annabowling 2 Comments

Hello, all. Skye here, for another Feline Friday. I am not feeling that great this week, which is why Anty started off this morning by chasing me around the dark apartment with a spoonful of hairball remedy. I tried to hide in Uncle’s office, but she caught me and tilted the spoon near my nose, which is where she is supposed to put the icky gross disgusting stuff. The other humans call it hairball remedy, and the packaging says cats love it. Well, I do not. I have been a pukey girl, and, because I am shedding like a boss, the humans are pretty sure it is because I have a hairball that needs some help getting out of me. At this point, I really do not care which end, but we all hope we can take care of this ourselves and not need to go to the pokey place (aka the vet.)

I am still happy to play with my people and follow them around, and I am drinking my water, which is good, so I will go ahead with this blog entry. Anty says doing normal things helps. This week, Anty’s post at Buried Under Romance is about the other kind of book hangover, and by that, she means the kind that is not fun. That post is here:

http://buriedunderromance.com/2016/09/saturday-discussion-the-other-book-hangover.html

and it looks like this:

bur

 

Anty has also been hard at work this week, on Her Last First Kiss.  Right now, she is making sure she does not have any holes in the story, and, to do that, she needs to touch paper. That means that working on the computer alone is not going to allow her to connect with the mechanics of this phase of the writing. This week, she took a pack of index cards and opened her document. Then she wrote the title of every scene (some of them, she can now see, are actually chapters) on one side of the index card, and then, on some of  them, she put a few notes about what happens on that scene.

Next, she took out her Big Daddy Precious notebook that is only for this story, and started writing down (she is not done yet, because she has been taking care of me) the title of each card, and then what she can remember about the scene, only from memory. Sometimes, that does not match what is in the file, but that is okay. This is why they call them drafts. When Anty does this, she can see where she is repeating herself, and where she might need additional material. She makes notes on the backs of the cards (or maybe it is the front; kitties are not known for their understanding of office supplies) and uses highlighters in the notebook to let her know what is a Hero scene and what is a Heroine scene. That makes her desk look like this:

desktop150916

please note use of filter

 

Anty gets a little nervous at the prospect of putting things that are not perfect down in a special notebook, but that is what the notebook is there for, in the first place. It is okay to learn, and to make mistakes while doing so. Anty’s plan is to go through the whole book this way and then show the result to Miss N, and maybe Critique Partner Vicki, to get some feedback. Then it will be time to flesh out what needs fleshing out, and putting everything together. It will probably also be time for Uncle to make Anty some more coconut pancakes, because Anty loves coconut pancakes. I have never had coconut pancakes, because I am a kitty, but I bet if I gave Anty my big beggy eyes, she might give me some. She is still figuring out what foods are best for me when I don’t feel so good, but she has not tried giving me coconut pancakes yet. They might help. Maybe. When I am sick, I like food with gravy on it. Maple syrup is a kind of gravy, isn’t it?

pancakesandnotebook

Yep, right on top of the special notebook. Anty has priorities.

 

The other thing that is going on over here is that the batteries on the smoke detectors are all dying at the same time. They are very considerate and make a chirping sound to let the humans know it is time to change the batteries. The annoying thing is that they are very, very high on the ceilings and chirp so much that it sounds like a bird sanctuary in here. It is not a bird sanctuary, though. I checked. No actual birds, except the ones outside, and I am an indoor girl. Unless I have to go to the vet, and then I will go outside in my carrier, but I will not be able to get any birds. Unless there are birds at the vet. Hm. I may have to think about this. Maybe there is an upside to everything.

That is about it for this week. There has been some talk about giving me another dose of the hairball remedy, because Anty is not sure if she actually got it into me, since it was dark this morning. The humans say the remedy will help me feel better, but they have not tasted it, so easy for them to say. I’d better find a better hiding place. Until next time, I remain very truly yours,

i1035 FW1.1

Until next week…

Skye O’Malley Hart-Bowling
(the kitty, not the book)

Sweetest Workshop Hangover

annabowling 2 Comments

Happy Monday, all. It’s a lovely seventysomething here in New York’s Capitol Region, and I am in my comfy chair, laptop in my lap (lap desk needs replacing, as the cushion has deflated, the handle is hanging loose, and the coating on the surface of the desk is cracked and peeling; this desk has served me well) and actually have a topic. This all bodes well, so let’s see how it goes.

I spent my Saturday here:
http://cr-rwa.org/2016/09/before-you-hit-send-workshop-with-angela-james-is-this-saturday/

and can very highly recommend Angela James’s workshop, which, oddly enough, I am probably not going to talk about much here, even though that was kind of my entire point. I have masses of notes and some hefty handouts on self-editing, to go over and put into heavy use when I get to the self-editing stage. Right now, I am focused on writing and co-writing these two WIPs, and all the rest comes after I type/co-type The End. What I’m blabbering about instead, is the experience. Also the stuff, because I am all about pens and paper, and hey, they outright give them to you at these things, even if you bring your own.

I love conferences and workshops, because I love writing romance, and I love people, and being in a hotel or part of a hotel, filled with other people who also love writing romance, and are there for the same reason I am, to improve our craft and advance our careers, is about as good as it gets. This was probably the least prepared I have ever been for an actual RWA event, and, surprisingly, I was fine with that. Presenter was Angela James, who is pretty high up the ladder at Carina Press, so she presumably knows her stuff when it comes to editing (she does.) I knew I was riding in with N, conveyed by her lovely husband, Mr. N, and had plans to meet up with Sue Ann Porter, and several of my CRRWA chapter sisters and brothers (yep, we got dudes.) Potential to meet new friends, and did find the lovely surprise of meeting with one of my Last Call Girls, M, (don’t have permission to use her name yet, which, in retrospect,  I probably should have secured beforehand, but then again, maybe I can make being an initial on my blog can become some kind of thing. Yeah. We’ll go with that one. Some pictures of me hanging out with beautiful blondes. That’s Sue Ann Porter in the pink, and the lovely Miss M in the snazzy specs.

Sue Ann Porter, and me
Me and the delightful MIss M

 

Most important thing I learned about taking all day workshops came at the registration desk, when I realized there was only one place to put my name tag. Clip on name tags and V-necked shirts provide a unique challenge. I will remember this for next time and bring an actual jacket with me, for name tag purposes, and in case the venue’s air conditioning is set to Polar Bear. I appreciate that it was ninety-three degrees outside and so humid that I am fairly certain I saw air fish. We will not discuss the weather on Saturday night, but I am extremely thankful for the cooler weather that came after.

One of the best parts of any conference or workshop is getting a good group at one’s table at meals, and this was no exception. Me, Sue Ann, M, and N, one tiny table in this room:

diningroom

Snazzy, huh?

When we got back from stuffing ourselves with the bounty of a respectable sandwich bar and dessert buffet, we found a nice surprise waiting at our seats.

After lunch surprise
Notepad front
Notepad back

 

Carina Press brochure, some fun reading-themed stickers, Carina Press pen, and vintage Harlequin cover themed notepads. Do they know me or what? There were different titles for the notepads, but The Widow Gay seemed to be the hot property of the day. I am highly in favor of book covers on notebooks. Heck, I am highly in favor of notebooks, period. The notebook I brought, and filled nineteen of its pages, I’ve had for a while. The pages are horizontally striped, one line blue, the next white, so a lot easier for my eyes to focus on and find where I am when I look away and then back. I used the same gel pens I keep on  hand for my commonplace notebook, and found that rotating through the colors, one per subject, should make finding pertinent sections easier when I go back to study them.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, all well and good, and you’ve  hit your precious magic seven hundreds, Miss Talky Talk Writer Person, but what did you learn? Well, several things. Writer things. A good, comprehensive review of the basics of self editing, which I will definitely put into play once these two books are done, because I’m looking forward to that phase. For right now, what’s most important is to get from Once Upon a Time, to Happily Ever After. What I got from this workshop the most is that I am on the right track. If I’m not all the way back on the horse (how on earth do we measure that, anyway?) I’ve got at least one foot in the stirrup. I’ll take that, and gladly.